


Busted

by stellarmeadow



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Pining, mmom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:19:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarmeadow/pseuds/stellarmeadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve finds a picture during Danny's latest move that has him hot and bothered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Busted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/space/gifts).



> This was inspired by a prompt from [space](http://archiveofourown.org/users/space/pseuds/space) for MMOM. Thanks for the prompt - hope you like it! :)

"I'm just saying that this is the fourth time you've moved in two months." Steve shouldered a well-worn box as he frowned at Danny.

"Your point?" Danny asked, hands on his hips.

"This box has a permanent dent from my shoulder I've carried it so many times."

Danny's lips thinned as he turned and picked up a box from the truck bed. "I'm tired of settling," Danny muttered, shifting the box until he could carry it easily. "I'm holding out for the right thing this time if it kills me."

He turned and stalked off to the latest crappy place he'd found, leaving Steve to trail along behind him. When they were inside, Steve started to ask which room the box went in, before he realized he already knew--he recognized the stain on the side from move number two, and the rip in the bottom flap he could just see out of the corner of his eye from move number three.

The box was falling apart--if Danny intended to keep moving around, Steve was buying him plastic packing tubs for his birthday. Steve could feel the bottom of the box sagging where it wasn't supported by his shoulder.

He went down the short hall to the bedroom--at least this one had a bedroom, and an actual bed, courtesy of the owners who were letting Danny apartment sit for a month. It meant Danny's furniture--what little there was--was in storage. But they still had to move the overworked boxes.

Steve shifted the box off his shoulder and had it almost on the bed when the bottom gave out. The contents spilled out onto the bed, cards and papers and pictures peeking out from under the box's crooked sides.

As carefully as he could, Steve turned the box onto its side, trying to scoop the contents back into it. The less that fell out, the easier it would be to dump everything into a new box. He'd almost gotten all the papers back inside when he came across one picture that made him stop.

It was a black and white photo of a younger Danny, though how anyone had gotten Danny to pose for it, Steve couldn't guess. As far as Steve could tell, Danny had an extreme aversion to taking off his shirt. But the picture was definitely a shirtless Danny. Not just shirtless, either. This Danny was missing the mane of hair that his Danny was so proud of, his hair cut almost into a Mohawk.

Of course, he'd have noticed that sooner if there hadn't been so much gorgeous skin to look at. He'd seen Danny shirtless a few times, brief glimpses as he was changing shirts, but he hadn't had the chance to study, not like this. The brief looks, combined with the way Danny's shirts fit him, had made it clear that he had a nice body, but seeing it like this, muscles and abs so well-defined, a chiseled line leading down into his shorts, left Steve's mouth dry.

He licked his lips, staring at the picture for a long moment. With a glance over his shoulder to assure himself he wasn't going to be interrupted, Steve pulled out his phone. He dropped the photo onto the bed and snapped a picture before stuffing his phone back into his pocket as he heard footsteps.

"What's taking so long?" Danny said.

"Your boxes are tired of moving," Steve answered, picking the photo back up, "even if you aren't."

Danny was at his shoulder. "Boxes can't--hey, where'd you find that picture?"

"It fell out of the box when it broke." Steve glanced at Danny, mouth twisting up at the corner. "Is there a story behind this, or were you just going through a Mister T phase?"

"Funny," Danny said dryly. "I had a girlfriend who was into photography. She talked me into being a model."

"What about the hair?"

"Baseball."

Steve blinked at him. "Baseball?"

"I played baseball in college until I blew out my knee. And we were the Indians."

"So the whole team had Mohawks?"

Danny shrugged. "It was during the playoffs. We wanted the extra mojo."

"Did it help?"

"We didn't win the series, but we didn't do too badly." Danny reached out and plucked the picture out of Steve's hand. "So maybe it did."

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets to avoid trying to take the picture back. He watched as Danny put the picture in the broken box. "I'll get another box for this later," Danny said, tugging on Steve's arm. "Come on, three more trips and then it's all the Longboards you can drink--at least until the cooler is empty."

With one last glance at the picture, lying on top of the pile in the box, Steve turned and followed Danny out of the room. He helped with the rest of the move, he ate, drank and laughed with the team, but the whole time part of his mind was on that picture.

He hurried home, and into his house, barely able wait to pull out his phone and look at it again. The picture on his phone wasn't as clear as the original, but it was clear enough. Steve barely looked at the stairs as he climbed, his attention focused on the picture.

By the time he was in his room, his fly was already open. He rolled as he fell on to the bed, landing on his back without dropping the phone, his right hand reaching for his dick as his left thumb traced the lines etched into Danny's abdomen.

Too much friction, and Steve licked his palm a few times before going back to stroking himself, hard, rough strokes, meant to get him off quickly. He turned onto his side, letting the pillow help support his hand as he held the phone. The Danny in the picture seemed almost taunting now, the way his thumbs pulled his jeans down just enough to show the darker hair that led to what Steve knew was probably a glorious dick.

And the way his fingers hovered over that dick, as if hiding it with denim wasn't enough, drawing attention to what was there without showing any hint of it. Fucking tease. Steve wanted to put his own fingers there, to ghost over Danny's dick and a layer of fabric, sucking marks into that chest until Danny was begging him to get rid of the pants and fuck him right there in the open.

The mere fantasy was enough, and Steve had to close his eyes at last, shouting Danny's name as he spilled over his hand onto the bedspread. He lay on his side panting for a long moment before rolling onto his back, his eyes still closed as he caught his breath.

He'd just about learned how to breathe properly again when his lungs stopped, along with his heart, at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Steve's eyes flew open, zeroing in on Danny, standing in the doorway, face flushed, eyes wide.

"You, uh, forgot your wallet," Danny said, one hand scratching the back of his neck, the other holding up Steve's wallet. "And also, maybe we should talk."

\---

END

**Author's Note:**

> Want to learn more about me and my writing? Visit my page at <http://www.jamiemeadowswrites.com/>


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